The Professor
by Metrimethyl
Summary: Forbidden love, but not excessively so:  Hermione and Fleur facing the barriers of academia.


The curtains drew themselves together with the flick of a wand. Finally Hermione was alone with time to think. Lying on the worn, cream-coloured duvet of her Hogwarts bed, hidden from the world for a bit, she allowed herself to relive the electrifying moment in which she had almost kissed Fleur Delacour. 

"Or was it," Hermione thought suddenly, "The other way around?" Hermione nuzzled her pillow thoughtfully. She hadn't really known what was going to happen, but she'd certainly had a gut feeling that Fleur hadn't gotten so close to give her a talk about academics.

Lying on her side, slightly curled for protection and sinking into the voluminous duvet, Fleur flashed before Hermione's measuring caramel eyes. They unfocused. All Hermione could see was a manicured hand shutting an office door. A blue skirt swirled towards Hermione's knees, which hung over the edge of a squishy chintz chair. Those manicured nails again, digging into the arms of Hermione's chair eagerly, eliminating her exits. Lavender tickled her nose, just before blonde hair followed suite and Hermione couldn't see anything except Fleur. Fleur's chest in Hermione's face, followed hastily by laughing ice-blue eyes.

Fleur had stayed like this for an eternity, or so Hermione remembered it. The younger girl had practically had a fit in the chair because of Fleur's presence. She hadn't been able to think, let alone reach out and touch the virtual reality in front of her. She had just barely managed to look into Fleur's eyes, to see them laughing, which made her even more nervous because she was so happy. She was so happy to see those eyes so close to her's, the presence of the only professor, woman ... individual ... she had ever felt like this for, so near.

Fleur was watching her with patient amusement, as if she had all the time in the world. A chill ran up Hermione's spine, and she wriggled it out of her system, for a moment naive and reading nothing into the situation, and winding up even closer to Fleur in the most adorable way possible. When she came back to herself, she realized that she had screwed herself over and turned as pink as Ron.

"Fleur, I..." Those intelligent eyes downcast ... shy ... terrified. Fleur again melted inwardly for this girl. 

"Oui?" Fleur purred. They were nose to nose now ... no doubt about it. Hermione gulped. She looked down for a moment, all her intelligence mustering a reply, which abruptly fell apart when Fleur reached out and stroked her hair. Arching her neck in reply, the poor girl forgot everything in her head. Finally, something snapped. Fleur was jolted by the feral look that came into Hermione's eyes. Hermione pounced, determined to take control of the situation, when...

"Delacour!" 

Hermione veered at the last minute into Fleur's shoulder, who, caught off-guard, tumbled backwards and carried Hermione with her. They ended up on the floor in a wonderful predicament, save for Professor Snape at the door. Fleur huffed in annoyance, while at the same time murmuring something about a consolation prize.

"Oui?" Fleur growled. Snape's greasy smirk only made her more hostile.

Hermione finally looked up from Fleur's bosom, saw Snape, and promptly rolled off of Fleur and hit her head on Fleur's desk. "Merlin..." groaned Hermione. What a day this had been...

Snape sneered at both of them, before turning his attention back to Fleur. "You're wanted in Dumbledore's office, Delacour. It would be best if you finished up this ... training, should I call it?" Coal-black eyes flicked toward Hermione, "And dealt with more pressing issues."

Fleur eyed the potions master coolly, before replying, "Per'aps you should also tend to your own pressing issues, non?" Fleur glanced pointedly to Snape's burned hand, which was promptly concealed in a swish of black robes. A flicker of discomfort, a scathing glare, and Fleur and Hermione were alone again.

A glance between the two, and Hermione shot to her feet. "Well, then," the Head Girl inched backwards, the frightful prey again. "I'll let you get to that appointment, Professor Delacour." Before Fleur could stun her or ... do anything ... Hermione was gone like a shot. Fleur wilted visibly at the lost opportunity, muttering about hopeful next times, before slipping from the office to speak with Dumbledore. 


End file.
